


1.05 Invisible

by littlespider9



Category: FBI: Most Wanted (TV 2020)
Genre: Alternate Ending, Brothers, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Major Character Injury, Team Bonding, The Skye Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlespider9/pseuds/littlespider9
Summary: “Jess, you better keep everybody inside until it’s clear.”The words had barely left Clinton’s mouth when a SWAT officer behind him screamed and collapsed to the lawn in a heap of camouflage and tactical gear. Reflexively, Clinton turned to look at the fallen officer.Looking back, that action probably saved his life.
Relationships: Clinton Skye & Kenny Crosby, Jess LaCroix & Clinton Skye
Comments: 20
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've watched this episode an embarrassing number of times and it's always struck me as highly improbable that Clinton was out in the open the whole time without getting shot.
> 
> Thus, this fic was born. Enjoy.

_“He was over half a mile away, 140 feet up. Wind blowing sideways at 18 knots and no spotter, and he still made five shots on the money.”_

_“He’s just a man with a gun. Don’t let him get under your skin.”_

  
  


[Halifax, Massachusetts]

Easier said than done, Clinton thought, poised behind his surveillance sedan with his rifle, listening through his comms as Jess and SWAT stormed Tina Naylene’s single-story house. Like it or not, Scott Weitzen was already under his skin, had been since they arrived at the gun range and Clinton realized just how damn good a shot the other sharpshooter was.

He felt responsible, somehow, the longer Weitzen was at large. As though as a sharpshooter himself, he should have some deeper insight into what made the former lieutenant tick. Clinton knew Crosby was feeling the same way, had watched the younger man dig into his own military experience all week to try and predict what Weitzen might do next.

“Suspect’s MIA.”

“House is clear!”

The second the status update came over the comms, Clinton was moving, hurrying around the other side of the car and swiveling his rifle so he was looking out into the street. He should’ve known Weitzen wouldn’t have let himself get cornered in Tina’s basement. Clinton began clearing the surrounding roofs hurriedly, suddenly hyper-aware that between the surrounding homes and tall trees, they were sitting ducks in a kill box of Weitzen’s making.

Behind him, the garage door squeaked open slowly as Clinton turned his attention to a patch of trees across the street. “Jess, you better keep everybody inside until it’s clear.”

The words had barely left Clinton’s mouth when a SWAT officer behind him screamed and collapsed to the lawn in a heap of camouflage and tactical gear. Reflexively, Clinton turned to look at the fallen officer.

Looking back, that action probably saved his life.

Clinton was only just turning back around when something punched through his right shoulder, knocking him back onto his butt with a grunt of surprise. For a second Clinton felt nothing but numb disbelief and then the pain kicked in, radiating out hot and sharp from the base of his neck. Blood started rushing through his ears and he barely noticed when a second SWAT officer - SWAT’s sharpshooter, his overloaded brain supplied dimly - dropped down dead behind him from a third, silent shot.

“Clinton, can you see him?” Jess’ voice cut through the fog, pulling Clinton back into the present.

Before he could manage an answer, Crosby’s voice came over the comm, tight with concern. “Clint, you hit?”

When Clinton didn’t immediately respond, still trying to breathe through the pain, Jess’ voice lost some of its cool professionalism. “Clinton? Talk to me!”

Focusing on Jess’ voice, Clinton took stock, rolling his shoulder experimentally to get a sense of how badly his range of motion was hampered. The movement sent stabbing pain through his chest and shoulder and white spots erupted in front of his eyes. Something was definitely broken and Clint very deliberately did not do the math on how quickly his shirt was becoming saturated with blood.

“Clint?” Crosby asked again, his voice now teetering on the edge of panic.

Clinton’s jaw clenched as he answered. “I’m still here. ‘S just my shoulder.”

As if to prove his point, Clinton pushed himself back upright and shuffled around awkwardly so he was leaning up against the side of his car. He knew this case had Kenny on edge, could hear it in his voice, and the last thing they needed was for Kenny to mount a foolhardy rescue attempt. If anything, it felt like that’s what Weitzen was waiting for. 

Facing Tina’s house, Clinton could see Kenny, standing just inside the garage and gave the younger man a thumb’s up. Thankfully, he could see Crosby’s shoulders lower almost instantly as the younger agent relaxed. Jess, Clinton knew, wouldn’t be so easily convinced. They’d both been around long enough to know that a gunshot wound wasn’t ever “just” anything.

At least Jess had his “agent in charge” voice back. “Hang in there, bro, you hear me? You’re the only one with a line of sight. Can you see Weitzen?”

Bracing himself, Clinton forced himself back up to his knees, pulling the barrel of his rifle back up over the hood of the car so he could look through the scope. If he let loose a rather undignified sound as the movement pulled at his shoulder, he could only hope it was muffled by the screaming of the SWAT officer behind him. 

“Negative. I think he’s possibly in the trees. He’s using a suppressor.”

Deep breaths, Clinton reminded himself, scanning the trees as he listened as Jess tried and failed to talk Weitzen down. He focused on the dense grouping of trees across the street, trying to look past the first layer of branches towards the trunk where the branches would be thicker and steadier, more likely to hold Weitzen’s weight. There was a light wind causing the tree branches to sway gently in place, obscuring any signs of the other sniper even further.

Behind him, the SWAT officer was growing quiet, his screams reduced to moans. Clinton heard the dull thud of a bullet in wood and his team, muffled and arguing, before Jess cut through again, clear as ice. “Clinton, anything?”

“Negative, his camo’s too good.” Clinton blinked roughly through his scope, willing his eyes to focus despite the fact that everything was starting to take on a soft fuzziness around the edges. The calm, logical part of his brain informed him that meant he was losing too much blood. Clinton filed that information away as something he’d just have to deal with later. “Acoustics would help to find him.”

Back in the truck, Hana worked her magic and suddenly Scot Weitzen was breathing steadily in Clinton’s ear. He listened for a moment, seeking any background noise, trying to get his mark’s bearings. A pair of birds crowed in his ear and after a second of searching, he found them through his scope. Locking onto them, Clinton breathed deeply and everything else faded away: the throbbing of his shoulder, his teammates talking in his ear, the quiet moaning of the downed SWAT officer, the feeling of his shirt, heavy with blood. Suddenly Clinton was just a teenager again, hunting with his dad in the woods.

The birds didn’t let him down. They alighted on a branch and a moment later, a single gunshot rang out in the cool morning air. Then there was a body, crashing through the bows of the evergreen as it fell. Clinton jolted to his feet, victorious despite the headrush. “Suspect down!”

Before he was even aware of what he was doing, Clinton traded his rifle for his sidearm and rushed across the street to the body. It was the hunter’s instinct in him, to find and claim the kill before someone else could. But the illusion of the game hunt evaporated quickly once he found himself alone, standing over the body and looking down at the single bullet hole right between Scot Weitzen’s eyes.

Clinton had done that, taken a life. The thought was sobering. Even after all of these years, it never got any easier.

There was the crashing of feet through grass behind Clinton as his team approached and it was as though his body finally knew that the threat had passed. The strange rushing in his ears came flooding back as his shoulder throbbed unforgivingly. His legs turned to pudding and he staggered, but before he could actually fall there were familiar hands on his arms, easing him down into a sit. Bodies moved hurriedly around him, but everything was too blurry to follow.

“Shit, it’s a bleeder.”

“Yeah, we need pressure on that. Get a medic!”

Someone went running off, calling for a medic, and the hands were back, manhandling Clinton down onto his back. The very worried face of one Jess LaCroix swam briefly into focus.

“Hey there, bro. Still with me?”

“Yeah,” Clint managed, licking his suddenly cold, dry lips. “I got him.”

“Yes, you did,” Jess nodded, “though technically he got you first. You were lucky, he could’ve shot you in the head.”

“He tried. I moved,” Clinton joked weakly, but he must have looked worse than he thought because Jess didn’t laugh, didn’t even crack a smile. The team leader was busy pawing at Clinton’s shoulder, trying to get a look at the wound and didn’t bother giving a warning before pressing down against the entry wound with the flat of his palm. This time Clinton couldn’t hide his distress, giving a sharp cry at the sudden pressure and kicking out with his legs reflexively. “Shit, Jess.”

“I know, sorry,” Jess said hurriedly, but Clinton didn’t think he really seemed all that apologetic because he drew himself up on his knees before pressing down even harder. “You’re losing a lot of blood. Just stay still for me, alright? Medics are on their way.”

Clinton tried to nod, but he couldn’t really feel his body anymore, his entire existence tunneling down to the one point of throbbing pain. He thought he could see a shadow hovering over Jess, a shadow with a familiar face.

“Angelyne?”

Jess immediately looked behind him, but apparently he couldn’t see the shadow because when he looked back down at Clinton, his eyes were wide and afraid. “Clinton, you’ve gotta stay awake, okay? You’re going into shock.”

“Yeah, okay,” Clinton murmured, but then the shadow behind Jess rose up and swelled and the world around him faded into darkness.

\--

Kenny Crosby just managed to intercept Tina Naylene before the nurse made it across the street, intent on seeing Scot Weitzen’s body. He hurried to reassure her but was firm in keeping her away from the body. He was sure she’d seen dead bodies before, in her line of work, but it was different, seeing a body in the field, with one of Clinton’s well-placed bullets in an eye or forehead… Definitely not something she needed burned into her memory.

Crosby was just passing Tina off to one of the local officers when Barnes came running across the street, yelling for a medic. That alone sent a chill down his spine because Barnes never yelled.

“Weitzen?” Crosby asked, intercepting the older agent halfway up the driveway. It was rare, but sometimes Clinton did miss a kill shot. And with how far down Weitzen fell-

“No, it’s Clint,” Barnes shook her head, pushing past Crosby roughly. She looked scared, another emotion Crosby didn’t usually associate with his teammate. “I need the medic.”

“Where?” Crosby demanded, his entire body thrumming like a taught string.

Barnes didn’t stop, heading towards the house in search of the medic and directing Crosby back the way she came with a vague wave of her hand. The young veteran started jogging that direction, a tight knot forming in his stomach. He’d seen Clint take the hit; heck, it had scared Crosby half to death when the older agent suddenly fell back with a spray of blood. But Clint had managed to get back on his feet to make the kill shot, all under his own power. It was just his shoulder, that’s what he’d said.

It took Crosby all of two seconds to figure out that Clint had lied to him.

He rounded the side of the red house kitty-corner to Tina’s and found Jess kneeling over the prone body of his brother-in-law, putting pressure on what looked like a wound directly at the base of Clint’s neck, where the neck joined to his right shoulder. Crosby slowed to a stop a few paces from the pair, eyeing the growing puddle of red pooling in the grass under Clint.

“Shit.” Crosby fumbled for his comm, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking. “Hana, roll an ambo. Clint’s down.”

“On it,” came the quick, tight reply. “How bad it is?”

Crosby swallowed. “Bad.”

“Clint!” Jess suddenly exploded into action, trying to shake Clint with one hand while maintaining pressure. Crosby hurried forward the last few paces, dropping down beside his team leader.

“Boss, how can I help?”

“Try and wake him up for me,” Jess ordered sharply, shifting so he could press the already sodden handkerchief in his hand further into the gaping hole in Clint’s shoulder. “Where’s the damn medic?”

“Barnes is lookin’ for him,” Crosby assured him before shuffling around to get closer to Clint’s head. He slapped the older man’s cheeks and gave him a gentle shake, but Clint remained unresponsive, eyes closed and normally warm complexion a sickly grey. “Clint. Hey, come on, man. You gotta open your eyes.”

“Jess!” Barnes’ voice pulled both agents’ attention as she and the SWAT field medic came racing over. Crosby immediately got to his feet and stepped back, out of the medic’s way.

“One shot to the shoulder, through and through,” Jess rattled off, scooting over to give the medic access to the wound. “But it’s bleeding like a son of a bitch. He’s been unresponsive for almost two minutes.”

“Let me take a look,” the medic urged, holding gauze at the ready. “But go slow.”

Jess eased off the pressure slightly so the medic could get in there with one gloved finger and a penlight. Bright red blood immediately gushed out of the wound, causing the medic to press his lips together grimly. “Yeah, it looks like he might have hit an artery. We’ve gotta get some fluids in him ASAP or he’s not going to make it to the hospital.”

_Not going to make it._

The words seemed to catch in Crosby’s brain only to replay over and over again. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Logically, he knew their jobs were dangerous; they wouldn’t need their guns if it weren’t. But somewhere in the back of his head, Crosby realized he’d always thought of Clinton and Jess as untouchable, the FBI lifers who’d seen and lived through more weird shit than Crosby could ever imagine. The thought that one of them might get taken out on a case never even occurred to him.

“Kenny, hey, you good?”

Crosby wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there, lost in his own head, but in the meantime, the medic had packed Clint’s shoulder full of Quick-Clot gauze and the local paramedics arrived. Crosby watched as they rushed the downed sharpshooter to the ambulance, one of the paramedics holding an IV fluid bag aloft.

It took more willpower than Crosby was willing to admit to refocus on Jess. “Yeah, boss, sorry.”

“We’re going to talk about this later, got it?” Jess asked, striding quickly after the paramedics while wiping his hands on a cloth he’d gotten from somewhere. “For now, I’m going to the hospital with Clint. Barnes, you, Hana, and Crosby wrap things up here and come meet us when you can. You’re in charge.”

“Copy that,” Barnes nodded, her face drawn tight with concern. “You’ll keep us updated?”

Jess nodded before climbing into the back of the ambulance. “Every step of the way.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinton and Crosby have a heart to heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick heads up that this chapter contains a racial slur for Indigenous Americans.

By the time the rest of the team made it to the hospital, Clint was already out of surgery. They found him in a private recovery room, Jess perched in a faded chair by his bedside.

“Sorry we’re late, boss,” Crosby said by way of greeting, immediately all eyes for their wounded teammade. Clint’s neck and shoulder were bandaged, the gauze hiding rows of tidy stitches, and his right arm was immobilized in a sling. But overall Clint’s coloring was better than before and he appeared to be sleeping without much discomfort.

Just wait til those pain meds wear off, Crosby thought.

Behind him, Hana cocked her head in Barnes’s direction. “Sherry made us stop for food.”

It hadn’t been a popular decision, what with Crosby and Hana complaining that they just wanted to see Clinton already. But Barnes didn’t seem phased by her teammates annoyance, simply shrugging before holding out a white paper bag to Jess. “Yes, and we got you a chicken sandwich. It’s a lot harder to catastrophize on a full stomach.”

“If you say so, Mom.” Hana replied with an eye roll.

“How is he?” Crosby cut in, drawing their attention back to Clint with a jerk of his chin.

“Bullet fractured his collarbone and tore through his subclavian artery, but they were able to get a handle on it,” Jess reported tiredly, peering curiously into the bag and pulling out a single chip to pop into his mouth. “Doc’s got him on fluids and says he’ll probably be out of it for a while.”

Crosby nodded. That sounded about right. “I had a buddy overseas who almost died of a slow bleed. When we finally got him patched up and back to base, he slept for 18 hours straight.”

“18 hours?” Hana looked at him skeptically.

“Hey, true story.”

“Sounds like it might be awhile,” Barnes stepped in quickly to defuse any potential argument before turning back to Jess. “Jess, maybe you should come back to the truck and get some rest.”

Jess immediately shook his head, forcing himself to sit straighter with a frown. “No, I’ll stay here until he wakes up.”

Barnes shot Crosby a look and the young veteran returned it with a short nod. Jess looked about ready to fall over. “I can sit with him for a few hours, at least until you’ve eaten something.”

“And maybe taken a nap,” Hana chimed in. “Seriously, boss, looks like you need it.”

Jess eyed his teammates with fond exasperation, well aware that he was being ganged up on. “Fine, but I’ll be back in a few hours. And you’ll call if something changes.”

Crosby nodded. “Yessir.”

\--

Turns out 18 hours might have been a bit of a stretch, because four hours into Crosby’s watch, Clint shifted in bed with a groan of discomfort. Crosby looked up instantly at the sound to find Clint’s face screwed up in a grimace as the older agent struggled against the lingering fog from the pain medication and anesthesia.

“Clint, hey buddy. Welcome back.”

“Didn’t mean to go nowhere,” Clint mumbled, blinking heavily as he tried valiantly to stay awake.

The signature dry Clinton Skye humor had Crosby chuckling. “I know you didn’t, but you still gave us a scare.”

“Sorry,” Clint rasped, shifting around again as though trying to sit up.

Crosby was immediately on his feet, pressing the older agent back down as gently as possible. “Woah, hey, take it easy. Let me get your doctor.”

Crosby waited out in the hall while the doctor examined Clint, placing a quick call to Jess to let him know Clint was awake. When the doctor left and Crosby was allowed back in, he found Clinton sitting up and more alert. The older agent quirked an eyebrow at him.

“No Jess, huh? Does that mean I’m in trouble?”

Crosby scoffed a laugh, shaking his head. “He would’ve been here all day if Barnes didn’t drag him out to get some rest. He’ll be back soon, though. I just let them know you’re up.”

Clint nodded reflexively in acknowledgment, only to suck in a sharp breath as the movement pulled at his stitches. Both men were silent for a moment while Clinton regained his composure and took mental stock of the new limits of his mobility.

“How’re you holding up?”

The quiet question caught Crosby off guard and when he looked up at Clint in confusion, he saw the older watching him closely. “Seriously? You just took a bullet to the chest and you’re worried about me?”

Clinton gave a careful shrug with his good shoulder, a knowing look on his face. “I know this one wasn’t the easiest for you. Hard not to see yourself in other vets.”

Damn, was he really that transparent? Crosby carefully avoided Clinton’s eyes as he settled back into the visitor’s chair by the side of the bed. “I just felt like I should’ve known him better, you know? He and I walked the same path. I keep feeling like I should’ve been able to get to him sooner, maybe if I’d been able to talk to him…”

He trailed off in embarrassment, realizing he couldn’t guarantee he would’ve been able to get through to Weitzen. But Clint seemed to understand completely. “I was thinking the exact same thing. Sniper to sniper, I thought I should’ve had a better read on him. Hell, maybe it’s just been too long since I served.”

Now that caught Crosby’s attention. “Hold up, you were in the army?”

Clint gave him an amused look. “Joined up when I was 17. How else did you think I became a sniper?”

Crosby flailed around for an answer for a minute before coming up empty. He’d never really thought about it, actually, had kind of always assumed Clinton was just born with the eyes of a hawk and a rifle in his hand. “Wait, but then why did you want to hear about my experience as a veteran?”

Now it was Clinton’s turn to look a little sheepish. “Well, mainly because Jess wanted you to talk about it, get it off your chest and all that. But also because my experience was different than yours. Only active warfare I saw was the last few months of the Gulf War. Nothing like what you went through in, what, two tours in Afghanistan?”

“Three,” Crosby corrected quietly.

“Whole world hadn’t gone to shit yet when I was in it,” Clint said simply, his eyes starting to take on that heavy look again and his brief burst of energy clearly waning. “I appreciate you helping us understand.”

“Yeah, uh, no problem,” Crosby cleared his throat, weirdly emotional even though he didn’t feel like they’d actually said all that much. He really needed to check back in with his group. Trying to lighten the mood a little, Crosby asked, “You get a cool sniper nickname?”

“In basic, they called me Tonto.” Clint snorted and Crosby winced. “Once I made it through Sniper School, I was upgraded to Chief.”

“Morons probably thought you’d be flattered,” Crosby shook his head at the slur. He watched Clint blink slowly several times. “Hey man, don’t fight it. You need all the rest you can get.”

A brief look of annoyance flickered across Clint’s face before he gave up, allowing his eyes to slide closed and relaxing a bit into his pillow. “Damn pain meds. Keep an eye out for me.”

Crosby gave a quiet laugh, but Clint was already asleep. “I got your six.”

\--

“I thought you said he was awake,” Jess all but complained when he arrived back at the hospital an hour later to find Crosby growing restless and Clint still asleep.

“He’s been in and out,” Crosby clarified, glancing at the sleeping sharpshooter. “The doctor says that’s completely normal.”

Crosby paused, unsure of how to broach the next topic. “Clint and I, we, uh, we talked. About the case.”

Jess gave him a searching look. “Yeah? And how’re you doing?”

Crosby had never been so damn thankful to have these two men in his life, who seemed to know exactly when he needed to talk and when the finer details could be left unsaid. “Better. I didn’t realize Clint was in the army.”

“Oh yeah, he enlisted right after high school. Marilou wasn’t too happy about it, as I understand.” Jess nodded, a fond, faraway look coming over his face. “Clint doesn’t always like to talk about his service. Angelyne was just a kid, you know, when Clinton enlisted and she always wanted to be just like her big brother. He worries that she joined up because of him.”

Crosby mulled over the idea. Considering how Angelyne’s service ended, he could understand why Clint might not like the idea that he inspired his sister to join the military. How he might even feel responsible for her death. Which reminded him-

“Her anniversary’s coming up, isn’t it?”

Jess sighed, the sound so heavy Crosby could almost see the weight of it pressing down on his team leader. “Four years tomorrow. We’re supposed to be bringing offerings to her grave.”

“I’m sorry,” Crosby said softly, realizing that the words wouldn’t fix anything but meaning them all the same.

“Thanks, Kenny,” Jess said, sadness mixing with relief on his face. “I’m just glad Clint pulled through. I don’t think I could’ve ever looked his parents in the eye again if both their children died on the same day.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys make it home, Marilou frets, and Tali has questions.

In the end, Clinton drifted in and out of sleep for a total of eight hours before he was able to stand under his own power without getting lightheaded. Even then, his doctor wasn’t particularly enthused by his progress, no matter how many times Clinton insisted he was fine to leave. It was only after Jess’s continued assurances that yes, Clinton would be convalescing under strict supervision and no, he would not be allowed back in the field until he passed a Bureau medical exam that they were able to get him discharged into Jess’s care.

Their first stop was to meet up with the rest of the team, where Clinton was welcomed back by a hug from Barnes, a love tap from Crosby, and some gentler than normal ribbing from Hana. From there they split up, the others traveling with the mobile command center back to the New York Field Office while Jess and Clinton made the four-hour trip back to his parents’ farm.

Despite getting a later start, the boys made good time, arriving in the late afternoon as the sun cast a warm golden light over the property. They found Marilou in the living room fussing with her coat. Her face lit up when he saw them. “There you are! You should’ve called if you were going to be so late. The cemetery is only open for a few more -”

Marilou stopped short, taking everything in: the bandages peeking out over the top of Clinton’s collar, the sling barely hidden by the jacket draped over his shoulder, the fact that Jess was carrying both of their overnight bags. “What happened?”

“I’m fine, Mom,” Clinton assured her, though Jess didn’t think it sounded all that convincing. Despite the fact that Clinton had dozed most of the car ride down, he had dark bruising under each eye and he sank down onto the couch without prompting. Marilou looked far from convinced, stepping closer so she could run a hand over his forehead and brush aside a stray lock of hair.

“You’re so cold. How bad is it?” she asked, directing her question to Jess after apparently deciding that Clinton couldn’t be trusted to evaluate his own health.

“Bad enough that Clinton will be staying with us for a few weeks,” Jess replied, trying to keep his tone light as Nelson and Tali entered the room.

“Uncle Clint is staying with us?” Tali asked excitedly, all smiles and gangly, growing limbs as she gave Jess a hug. She turned next to Clinton, only to stop short when she saw the sling and bandages. The look on her face immediately turned scared.

“Hey, watén;a, none of that.” Clinton waved her over and gave her a careful, one-armed hug. “See, nothing a Tali hug can’t heal.”

“Are you sure?” Tali asked cautiously, her brown eyes still brimming with concern. “That looks like it hurts.”

“Not anymore,” Clinton replied with one of his signature calming smiles. “Now what do you say we go visit your mother?”

“Maybe you should stay here, son,” Nelson suggested, easing into his own jacket.

Jess watched his father-in-law’s deliberate actions with interest. Although he hid it better than either his wife or Tali, his words alone spoke to the level of his concern. Nelson was a devoted husband and loving father and grandfather, but he was a bit old fashioned when it came to dealing with pain and sickness. As far as he was concerned, as long as you were awake and talking, you were well enough to go to school, finish your chores, or hold up any other commitment you might be thinking of breaking. Jess doubted Nelson had ever been allowed to indulge his own injuries or discomforts, so he didn’t see why anyone else should have that leniency.

“I’m sure Angelyne would understand.”

Unfortunately, Clinton had inherited this no-nonsense, no excuse mentality from his father and, if possible, was even more stubborn. At his father’s words, Clinton shook his head and forced himself upright and off the couch. “I’m alright.”

Nelson exchanged a look with his wife over Tali’s head and shrugged. “Suite yourself. Let’s take the truck. This cold’s got my knee acting up.”

Now that was a lie, Jess thought as he followed his in-laws out to Nelson’s truck. The cemetery was only a fifteen-minute walk from the family farm and to Jess’s knowledge, nothing had ever prevented Nelson from making the walk to visit his daughter’s grave. Nothing but the sight of his son looking beat to hell, apparently.

Entering the cemetery was like descending into another world, one of silence and peace. Jess had found himself dreading this day all week but now he could feel his entire body relaxing as though Angelyne’s spirit was reaching out from her grave to soothe his nerves and wipe away the stress and worry of the past few days.

Nelson went first, smudging Angelyne’s gravesite and offering up a few quiet words of prayer for his daughter. Jess stepped forward next, kneeling in front of his wife’s headstone with a full heart.

_Hello, sweetheart. I love you and miss you. Thank you for giving me Tali. I wish you could see how beautiful she is._

As Clinton stepped forward, fumbling with one hand to open his offering of dried herbs, Jess extended one more prayer.

_Thank you for protecting your brother._

\--

“Who wants soup?” Marilou asked as they all filed back through the front door, pulling off coats and unwinding scarves. “I’ve got fresh bread to go with it.”

“And pie for dessert?” Tali asked, starting to perk back up after her much needed cry at the cemetery. Marilou shot her an amused look. “What? I saw it in the fridge.”

“Yes, and pie,” Marilou laughed, following her granddaughter into the kitchen.

“Let me help you with that,” Jess offered, noticing Clinton trying and failing to extract himself from his jacket.

“Thanks,” Clinton murmured, watching as Jess draped his jacket on a free hanger. “I think I’m going to pass on dinner and turn in early.”

“You sure?” Jess asked, closing the closet door. “You should probably eat something. The doctor said-”

“Honestly,” Clinton sounded drained, his shoulders drooping uncharacteristically, “I can either lie down now or fall down halfway through dinner. I think this’ll be easier for everyone.”

“I take your point,” Jess nodded, waving Clinton away from his overnight bag and picking it up himself. 

Although Clinton had his own place not too far from the family farm, he was known to spend the odd night at his parents’ house from time to time. This meant Marilou and Nelson kept a room ready for him, a converted den off the back of the house. Noticing Clinton’s steps were heavier than usual, his gait a little unsteady, Jess was grateful the room was on the ground floor.

Shouldering his way through the door to his room, Clinton immediately staggered towards the bed and sank down onto the mattress. Jess deposited his overnight bag on the worn armchair on the other side of the room and watched as his brother in law slowly worked his boots off one-handed. “You gonna be okay with your shirt?”

Clinton gave a tired nod. “I think I’ll manage.”

“Okay.” Jess realized he was stalling. For some reason, the idea of closing the door and leaving Clinton alone, even if he was just a few rooms over… Well, they definitely needed to talk about this whole ordeal sooner rather than later. To keep himself from hovering awkwardly in the doorway, Jess fished Clinton’s cell phone out of his bag and placed it conspicuously on the bedside table. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

“Sure.”

“Where’s Uncle Clint?” Tali asked in disappointment when Jess entered the dining room alone.

“He needed to rest for a little while,” Jess answered evasively, accepting the steaming bowl of soup Marilou handed him. “I told him we’d save him some soup.”

“Everything okay?” Marilou asked, her eyes darting towards the door as though she was contemplating going to check on her son.

Jess sighed. “I think visiting Angelyne took more out of him than he’d admit. He lost a lot of -”

Jess glanced over at his daughter, to find her listening attentively. He swallowed and deflected, reaching for a slice of bread. “He’ll be fine.”

For a minute, silence fell over the table as they all tucked into the meal. Tali was the only one not eating; instead, she frowned around at her family. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do you what, sweetie?” Marilou asked, confused.

“Don’t talk like I don’t understand,” Tali said firmly. “I’m not a little kid anymore like I was when Mom died. I want to know what happened to Uncle Clint.”

Jess hesitated and found himself looking over at Nelson, as he did so often when he needed reassurance. The older man nodded at him and Jess took a breath. “Okay, then. This last case we were working on involved a sniper. You know what that is, Tali?”

She nodded, her brow furrowed as she tried to verbalize her thoughts. “Uh, Uncle Clint is a sniper, right? He can shoot targets from super far away and, uh, he’s really good at it.”

“That’s right,” Jess said with a gentle smile. He loved that his daughter looked up to her uncle in the same way as her mother before her. “We were looking for a sniper who hurt a lot of people, but he found us first. Your Uncle Clint got shot while protecting the rest of our team from this man.”

Despite her earlier bravado, Tali shivered in her seat. “That sounds kind of scary.”

“It was kind of scary,” Jess agreed. “Clinton lost a lot of blood and it was touch and go for a bit there, but he had some good doctors. He should be back on his feet in a couple of weeks.”

“So he’s not going to die?” Tali wanted to know.

“No, sweetie, he’s not going to die,” Jess reassured her, watching out of the corner of his eye as Nelson reached over and squeezed Marilou’s hand. “He’s going to need lots of rest and he’s not going to be able to use his arm much until his collarbone heals, but Uncle Clint will be just fine.”

Tali looked much happier after the explanation, as if all was right in the world again, and tucked into her soup with renewed enthusiasm. But after a few bites, she paused. “That’ll probably be really annoying for Uncle Clint if he can only use one hand.”

Nelson laughed. “I think you’re right.”

“Maybe I can help him,” Tali said thoughtfully around a mouthful of soup. “I’ve got two good hands.”

Jess smiled into his own bowl. “I think your Uncle would like that a lot.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clinton is stubborn, Jess is exasperated, and Nelson... well, his bedside manner needs work.

When Clinton woke, he immediately wished he hadn’t. The pain in his shoulder, the irritation of having to keep his arm immobilized, that he’d been expecting. But what he wasn’t prepared for was the full-body ache, the way his limbs felt awkward and heavy, and the biting headache already pounding away right between his eyes. It felt like he’d been hit by a bus.

“Uncle Clint?”

Glancing down at the foot of the bed in confusion, Clinton finally noticed Tali standing there, her hair in two neat braids and a look of concern on her face. How long had she been standing there? More importantly, how had she gotten into his house? Did Jess know- Then Clinton caught sight of a painting on the wall, one of Angelynne’s paintings, and slowly began to reorient.

He was at his parents’ house, so his recovery could be supervised. Clinton swallowed, surprised by how dry his throat was.

“Hey, watén;a,” he murmured, shifting around in preparation to sit up. “What’re you doing here?”

“I have to go to school soon,” Tali replied with a one-shouldered shrug, “but I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

She really shouldn’t say stuff like that when his guard was down, especially not when she was standing there, the spitting image of his dead sister. Clinton swallowed again past the sudden lump in his throat and tried to force a smile.

“I’ll be okay,” he said, finally getting his good elbow under him and pushing himself upright.

Clinton instantly regretted the action as the room around him dissolved into a blur of color, his ears ringing and stomach lurching as though he were in a free falling elevator. He didn’t realize he was listing to the side until suddenly Tali was next to him, her little hands grabbing at his good arm to keep him upright.

“Uncle Clint? What’s wrong?”

Vertigo, Clint wanted to answer, but his stomach gave another lurch and he wasn’t so sure he wanted to open his mouth. All he could manage was a disoriented grunt.

Apparently, that wasn’t very reassuring, because Tali started fussing with his pillows, wedging them behind his back to prop him upright. She frowned at him, again reminding Clinton so much of Angelyne it took his breath away.

“Don’t move,” Tali warned before scurrying out the door.

\--

Despite how tired he was, Jess slept fitfully, his dreams more vivid than usual. Half were memories of Angelyne returning home in a sterile, flag-draped coffin and the other half images of what could have been, Clinton bleeding out in the grass just out of reach. At around 5 a.m. Jess gave up, flicking on his bedside lamp and reaching for a book.

At a slightly more appropriate hour, Jess was just about to head downstairs to start on breakfast when his door flew open and Tali came hurrying in.

“Morning sweetheart. What’s-”

“Something’s wrong with Uncle Clint,” Tali burst out, uncharacteristically cutting her dad off.

“What happened?” Jess demanded, as he followed his daughter out of his room and down the stairs, a million different worst case scenarios already running through his head. He should’ve checked on Clinton again last night, he should’ve insisted they stay overnight at the hospital, he should’ve- Thankfully, when he finally flung open the door to Clinton’s room, Clinton was sitting up in bed, very much alive, if a little distressed looking.

“Tali, what happened?” Jess repeated, his heart rate starting to slow a little.

“He tried getting up,” Tali answered, squeezing past her dad into the room, “and his face went all funny. I thought he was going to pass out.

To be fair, Jess thought, eyeing Clinton critically, that still looked like a possibility. His brother in law looked rather grey around the edges and seemed to be breathing rather pointedly through his nose. One thing was for sure; if Clinton was going to pass out, he wouldn’t want to do it in front of Tali.

“I’ve got him from here,” Jess assured his daughter. “Can you go ask Grandma if she can make him some toast and water?”

“I can do it,” Tali volunteered brightly.

“You, young lady, have to finish getting ready for school,” Jess reminded her, stepping cautiously towards Clinton and trying to evaluate what the trouble seemed to be without asking.

Tali tried again. “Or I could stay home and help. It’s Friday anyways and-”

Clinton made a strange sound in the back of his throat and Jess frowned pointedly at his daughter. She sighed. “Fine, I’ll go ask Grandma.”

Jess waited until the sound of Tali’s footsteps disappeared down the hallway before directing a question Clinton’s way. “How’s the pain?”

“Not bad,” came the answer, but Clinton’s voice was tighter than usual. A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Whole room’s spinning.”

“You gonna be sick?” Clinton’s only response was a vague, one shouldered shrug, but Jess could guess what was going on. When the doctors recommended Clinton take it easy for the next few days, they probably wouldn’t have approved of a roadtrip across state lines or of standing in a cemetery for two hours. They might have pushed it a little too far, a little too fast.

Jess sighed. “Alright, well, let’s get you into something more comfortable before your mom brings in some food.”

Despite what Clinton’d said the night before, he obviously hadn’t even attempted to change out of his street clothing, the once crisp blue button up he was wearing now untucked and wrinkled. To Jess’ surprise, the sniper relented to the suggestion rather easily, allowing his brother in law to ease him first out of his sling and then out of said wrinkled button up. Jess knew better than to push his luck and turned his back while Clinton struggled out of his jeans and into a pair of black sweats on his own.

While Clinton finished changing, Jess grabbed the packet of extra dressings the hospital provided and held it up for inspection. “You up for doing this now?”

Clinton eyed the bandages with a bit of trepidation and, quite frankly, Jess couldn’t blame him. Just the act of removing his sling and shirt had left Clinton looking a little clammy and, if possible, even paler than before. But after a moment’s hesitation, the sniper gave a short, if resigned, nod.

“Might as well.”

“Alright, hang tight.” Jess deposited the pack of bandages on the bed next to Clinton and headed out into the kitchen for a clean dishcloth and small bowl. Expecting to be bombarded with questions from Tali and concern from Marilou, he was pleasantly surprised to find the kitchen empty except for Nelson who stood filling a glass full of water. Jess eased around his father in law before selecting a clean dish towel and mixing bowl from a cabinet. “Where’re the ladies?”

“I sent Marilou with Tali to the bus stop and then to the store,” Nelson replied in his low rumble. “Figured Clint didn’t need a lot of fussing first thing.”

Jess snorted a laugh as he diluted some soap with water in the mixing bowl. He eyed the plate of toast on the counter. “That for Clint?”

Nelson nodded, picking up the plate and glass of water. “Lead the way.”

When Jess returned to his room with Nelson hot on his heels, Clinton visibly tensed and tried to sit up a little straighter. Still bare chested, he tried to turn his injured shoulder towards the wall and out of sight. “Dad-”

“Hush, riièn:’a. You can try to protect your mother, but I know what a gunshot looks like. You don’t need to go hiding things from me, unless you’ve forgotten our agreement.” Nelson cut his son off, depositing his offerings on the small desk in the corner of the room.

“No, sir,” Clinton responded quietly, any remaining fight seeming to drain out of him.

Jess, arranging himself on the bed next to Clinton’s injured shoulder with the necessary supplies, glanced between the father and son. “What agreement was this?”

“When Clint was in high school, he got roughed up a bit by some other kids,” Nelson responded, crossing his arms across his chest as he watched Jess gently remove Clinton’s dressing and begin to cleanse the area. “Bruised his ribs pretty badly, not that he mentioned anything to us.”

Clinton opened his in an apparent retort, only to cut himself off with a hiss as Jess dabbed gently at his sutures.

“Marilou was doing a lot of volunteer work with the tribal council that year, delivering food and other supplies to elders before winter. She had Clint and I hauling boxes and donations all over the place. That is, until this one almost passed out on us.” Nelson jutted his chin out in Clinton’s direction. “About scared Marilou half to death.”

Jess couldn’t help the short laugh that escaped because it really sounded exactly like something Clinton would do right now. The sniper had been known by his teammates to power through minor injuries, exhaustion, and even a temperature of 102 rather than admitting something was wrong. Because he was already so quiet, it could take even Jess days to figure out something was off. All the same, Clinton frowned at him.

“I didn’t say anything because you know how Mom gets,” he said, uncharacteristically defensive. “It was bad enough that I had a black eye.”

Jess did, in fact, know exactly what Clinton was talking about. Marilou was everything he could want in a mother in law: kind, generous, and a dedicated grandmother to Tali. But she was also a worrier, especially when it came to her family, and Jess knew from first hand experience that her care could sometimes be a bit stifling.

“Anyways, after that Clint and I had an agreement: no matter what was wrong, no matter how it happened, he needed to tell me so I could step in before it got worse.” Nelson continued. “We didn’t need to upset Marilou over every little thing, but someone needed to know that something was wrong.”

“I think I might need to be let in on that agreement,” Jess chuckled, taping fresh patches of gauze over Clinton’s sutures. The surgeons had done a great job, closing up both the entry and exit wounds with just a dozen or so neat little stitches. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stuff he’s tried to pull in the field.”

Nelson scoffed. “Try me.”

“Sure, gang up on a man while he’s down,” Clinton said, rolling his shoulder instinctively only to bite back a curse as the fractured pieces of his collarbone rubbed together.

“Hey, take it easy,” Jess warned, grasping Clinton by the elbow when the other swayed slightly in place. “Let’s get you back in a shirt and then if you finish your toast, you can have some pain meds.”

“Don’t need ‘em,” Clinton ground out unconvincingly.

Nelson sighed tiredly like he’d had some version of this same argument before. “I don’t think you’re fooling anyone, riièn:’a.”

“Don’t want ‘em,” Clinton amended, breathing carefully through his nose again while Jess helped him into one of his zip-up sweatshirts and then back into his sling. “They make everything all fuzzy.”

Jess shook his head in fond exasperation at the sniper. “Clint, that’s kind of the point. You’re supposed to be resting.”

Clinton’s mouth was set in a stubborn line and Jess could practically see the gears in his head turning, formulating an argument for why he did not, in fact, need to follow any of the doctor’s instructions. But before Clint could get a single word out, Nelson stepped in. “Take the damn pills. Unless you want your mother to fuss over you when she gets back and finds out you’re awake.”

Clinton’s only response was a sigh and to hold his hand out for the plate of toast. He looked at it in resignation when Jess handed it over. “All of it?”

Mindful of the fact that his brother in law still looked rather green around the gills, Jess decided to go easy on him. “As much as you can. Pain meds on an empty stomach aren’t a good idea.”

Sighing again, Clinton lifted the first piece of toast and took a tentative bite, which he chewed slowly and deliberately before swallowing. He sat hesitantly for a moment, as though waiting for his stomach to rebel, but when a minute passed and nothing horrible happened, seemed to realize that both Jess and his father were staring down at him, arms crossed.

“I’ll eat it, alright?” Clinton practically grumped, making Jess wonder what his friend had been like as a teenager. “Don’t you two have something better to do?”

Both Jess and Nelson took that as their cue not to push Clinton any further and exited his room, taking the old bandages and cleaning supplies with them. As they reentered the kitchen, Jess elbowed Nelson lightly. “That was pretty impressive. I never thought to use Marilou as a threat. Do you think it’d work if I tried it?”


End file.
